The Cord
by ChasingRainbows90
Summary: Jac / Jonny - no real clue how to summarise
1. Chapter 1

**The first two parts of this had been written on my laptop for ages, but for some reason I just couldn't get beyond that despite knowing what I actually wanted to happen. Anyway for some reason, the plot bunnies decided that they wanted this finished. So hopefully I'll have this one posted relatively quickly. Hopefully it's ok :-) **

Hesitantly, the flame haired consultant raised her scrub top, baring the slightly rounded shape of her abdomen. Within the confines of the hospital, she has worked to keep her pregnancy concealed despite it being common knowledge amongst her colleagues. It is just her way; she doesn't want her body to become public property, the wandering hands and eyes aimed at her mid-section. Yet she couldn't resist in that moment the temptation to study her changing form in the panel mirror. Freeing the material from her hands, she brings them down to frame the slight bulge, turning slightly to view herself in profile.

"Lucky bitch" she startles, having not heard the door opening and closing. Hastily she pulls top back down so that it covers her once more, before she turns sharply to face the registrar who is standing amused. The consultant raises an eyebrow.

"And by that you mean?" the question comes sharply, as she tries to contemplate the meaning behind her colleagues words. She would not consider it all that lucky to be faced with having to wear a uniform that is growing ever tighter and which soon will need to be replace with a size up nor does she think it is luck that has her running to the ladies – whether it be to vomit or urinate – far too frequently. The registrar gives a small laugh.

"You're tiny" she says finally, she thinks of how she had wanted to see her colleague larger. Her slim figure altered by the growing child, it would have been a sight to behold. The registrar had tried to imagine it often, not just the growth of her abdomen but how the rest of her body would change. And yet you could barely tell that the consultant was pregnant, "You're what, 19 weeks? By 19 weeks I looked like I swallowed a small basketball" in some ways it's envy of the consultant that is evident in the registrar's words. Her own pregnancy would have been far easier had it been more disguisable, but instead her body had gained weight from almost the moment the test had returned positive. It hadn't been long after that clothes had become overly tight and she'd gained the look of a pregnant woman.

"Can you let me finish changing?" the consultant changes the subject quickly, and the registrar looks confused for a second at the turn before she shrugs and slips back out on to the ward. The consultant turns back to look at herself, a frown forming on her face. For weeks now Jonny has been teasing her, nicknaming her chunky and the like, and as much as she hates to admit it she's started to take it to heart. It's the loss of control over her own body, the changes that are happening whether she wants them to or not. She has never been anything other than slim, and it scares her to see the numbers changing on the scale. But in spite of this, she cannot stop herself from eating the foods she would normally resist. She rarely indulges herself, and she sees nothing wrong with that but now her body is craving it so desperately and she cannot bring herself to say no. She has wondered, in the dark huddled against the toilet, whether her prolonged sickness is related to what she is eating, her body being unfamiliar with these food types. Fearing another wave of nausea, she forces her mind away from food, and turns her attention back to her body.

In spite of Jonny's comments, and her fears over lack of control – there is something in Mo's words that seep in to her consciousness, that cause them to echo inside her head. She has seen them, the other women who waddle about the hospital, who seem to be waddling wherever she goes. They all seem to have abdomens that cannot be hidden, that are displayed for all to see unlike her own which is still easily concealable. She sees these women who seem to gravitate away from the normal clothes, instead headed towards stocks of those specially designed for women like them, only she doesn't have that need yet. Her regular clothes, though tighter than before, still fit. She has watched them, and a part of her has smiled. Those other women, they are pregnant women – that has become their identity – but she is still herself.

Yet now there is a niggling voice, a combination of Mo's words and the image of those other women. Had she tried to push aside thoughts that she is smaller than she should be? She cannot recall because Jonny is never far away, waiting to tease her. He is enough to push away concerns, besides she can reason with herself. She is tall, so there is space for her child to grow before it has to push outwards; it's position could be such that it hides much easier within the confines of her uterus. But as she considers it now, Jonny is the only one to pass comment, the only one to see the changes. She knows that those around her would take delight in passing comment on her figure, on weight gained. They would gossip about the visual confirmation in the form of her rounded abdomen. True a scan photo had been seen, but suspicious minds can create stories as to how that came to exist.

She slips her hands beneath the material of her top, not quite brave enough to bare the skin again. Gently she presses the tips of her fingers against the bulge, her mind trying to recall Macdonald's rule. It has been so long since she has studied obstetrics properly, that these facts are less easily brought to mind, or perhaps it is the closeness of this matter. Though she tries to remain indifferent, this is still her child.

She closes her eyes, as she probes her fingers gently trying to locate the top of the fundus, she stills them when she thinks she manages it. Lowering her other hand, she allows the fingers to find the notch of the symphysis pubis. She tries to hold steady, but she is aware now of how her hands shake though she isn't quite certain of why. She thinks she is stupid, that this doesn't really matter and besides which this method is crude. She tries to judge the gap between her fingers, the number of centimetres that part them. But she knows how many weeks she is, and this clouds her judgement, she'd be better placed with an unbiased tape measure the numbers turned in to the skin so she cannot cheat.

Her frown deepens, as she allows her hands to drop away from her body. She shakes her head as she looks at herself, turning once more in to profile. She can see it, the gentle slope. Others, she thinks, just don't quite have her trained eye. She knows her body. She's being sensible, keeping herself in shape is the right thing to do, it means she'll bounce back easier later on and won't need to spend so much time having to lose unnecessarily gained weight.

Her lips turn up in to a small smile, as she gently caresses the place where her baby grows. With a quick pat, she turns and leaves the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hopefully this is alright, and thank you to anyone who reads / reviews :)**

"You all right chunky?" she is greeted cheerfully by the Scottish nurse almost as soon as she steps in to the desk in the centre of Darwin ward. She twists her lips together at the sight of him. She'd believed he had a day off today, and she'd been somewhat relieved at the prospect of having a shift without his teasing and constant questions. She understood, he was concerned for their child but it was wearing her down to the point she could, often, quite happily strangle him before the end of their shift rolled around.

"Fine" the answer comes easily to her lips, just as it has done for so long now. It's just easier, because ultimately the honest answer leads to more questions and concern, and she just can't deal with that. She watches as he raises an eyebrow and contorts his face in to a variety of expressions as he tries to decide whether to question her further or let the matter drop. She cannot help but smile as she watches him, his expressive nature is something that she adores, though at times it infuriates her.

"So no more sickness, dizzy spells?" She comes closer to him, not wanting him to talk any louder than he is doing. She is well aware that most of the hospital knows of her sickness, but she still doesn't quite want the details of her symptoms broadcast to the entirety of Darwin. She shakes her head, and watches as he rolls his eyes. "Liar" he says it good naturedly but still it riles her.

"Why bother asking, if you aren't going to accept my answer" she doesn't want to deal with him right now, and so she turns away, starting to walk in to the direction of her office. She knows she could just talk to him, that in reality the relationship between them has been so much better in recent weeks but still she cannot bring herself to do it; to show any signs of weakness.

"Have you felt anything yet?" he is by her side, and she curses herself for not moving quicker or having noticed that he had made it – ninja style – to her side. She halts, and watches as it takes him a moment to realise that she has stopped before her turns to face her. She tries to understand his question.

"Felt what Jonny?" there is disinterest in her tone. She doesn't quite get what he wants to know, or why he wouldn't get the hint that walking away from him means that she doesn't, at the moment, want to be with him or engaged in conversation. She's still chastising herself for her stupidity before, though she does not quite understand why she feels as she does.

"The baby, you're 19 weeks so you should be starting to feel movements" he smiles hopefully as he talks, his head cocked slightly to the side. It's almost as if he expects her to reach out and take his hand, pressing it to the point where the baby would be kicking. But that is to perfect, the scene from a romantic movie and not real life, especially when that life is hers.

"Been reading pregnancy books again?" her tone is taunting, a biting edge. She is mocking him once more, and she sees for a moment his face fall before he recovers himself and tries to plaster a smile on to his face. There have been a number of moments like this, when he has made a comment and she has brought up his choice of reading material. She thinks she should be touched, that many women would be – but instead she teases him like these are things he should already know – as she knows them - without having to read the books. It is another dig at his title of nurse.

"Well have you?" he doesn't bother to respond to the comment now, he's stopped bothering for the most part. It only leads to an argument and tension between them, and he's trying to keep her as calm as he can stress isn't good for either of them.

"Not yet, no" the words are blunt, and she hopes they tell him that this conversation is over. To reinforce the point she walks away from him once more, striding purposely to her office door which she opens and closes with force. If he had been stupid enough to follow, the door would probably have come in to contact with him, but she is not thinking of this. Instead she heads straight to her chair and rests her head against her hands, suddenly away of a pulsating in her head that she hadn't quite been aware of before.

She had barely even thought about it, the moment she would feel the baby move within her. Of course she knew it would happen, it was just one of those things but she hadn't thought about it as Jonny had. She knows how many weeks she is, and yet those words make so little sense to her. The weeks pass so quickly, that it is hard to keep track of what she should be expecting, she hasn't signed up to those stupid alerts though she is sure Jonny has. A little announcement on your social networking page that tells you "you are now X weeks pregnant" and describes those momentous little events you should expect and the changes in your ever-growing being. If it had been a patient she would consider things clinically, she would scan through all that she has known of development and ask all of the right questions. Yet she does not do this with herself.

She has accepted her gravid state. She thinks at times she is pleased that she is 'with child' but she cannot quite allow herself to be happy. She is all too aware of the pitfalls that come with being happy, with happy comes the fall to sadness – with both comes weakness. If she keeps herself neutral, the disappointment will be lessened, or so she tries to kid herself.

She is still uncertain as to how she will do this. Her role models for motherhood are not strong, and it haunts her. The dream has plagued her for weeks, a child standing realising they have been abandoned, that mummy has left and isn't coming back. In this moment, it is a memory that she tries to push away, but in the darkness behind her eyelids it's a premonition. The child is no longer her, but the child she carries. She has repeated her mother's mistake, and left another young girl to grow up as she did.

But there is hope that she can be different. She is not her mother. If she could, she would scrub that woman from every strand of DNA in her body, wipe clear the chromosomes that came from her. Perhaps that would be fairer to her child, to leave them to the care of the father who is already besotted. But, and this is a realisation that scares her, she doesn't want that. So much of this child scares her, and yet she wants it. She is fighting against feeling, and yet she is doing so regardless.

What she feels she is never quite sure. Love? That is perhaps too strong. Like? Isn't quite enough. The emotion is complex. It is mangled and twisted, and it comes when she is least expecting it. It shifts and changes with the tide, and she can never hold on to it long enough to decipher the truth. She knows it is tied up with an aching need, a desire she has long tried to squander. The thoughts prickle and harm her as she tries to hold them in her mind, drawing her to place she cannot tread. The voices come louder, faster, harsher within her head as she tries to fight the current, as she tries to hold steady. Around her, everything that has kept her standing is shaking and turning, the world moving and adapting to change which she cannot accept. She has fought to hard, and now the winds of change blow around her, pulling her world in to a tailspin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to anyone reading :-) and I hope this is ok **

He drums his fingers absentmindedly against the break room table, a mug of untouched coffee in front of him. He should savour the times in which he is able to drink the caffeinated liquid, it's presence on the ward having been all but banned due to her inability to stomach the smell, but try as he might he cannot face the now cold drink.

He regrets not following her in to her office earlier. He is continually fighting a losing battle. He wants nothing more than to support her, and yet he cannot do anything right. He has tried to be there for her, and yet this seems to suffocate her. She can't seem to handle his presence, his concern and so invariably she turns; an emotional switch which occurs inside of her which leaves him with a stinging pain that no cream or pill can soothe. But the other option, the one of letting her be, does not work either. If he leaves her to her own devices, she would leave him out entirely. She doesn't tell him what is happening without questioning, and he cannot face not knowing.

The strength of his feelings towards his child had taken him somewhat by surprise. The desire for a family had always been there, but somehow things had never quite fallen in to place for it to feel right. There was that time, all those months previously, when she had suspected that she was pregnant; that time when he had panicked because try as he might he couldn't yet imagine himself as a father. He could still recall the panic that has risen in his chest as realisation had dawned on him what she had meant by late, and then the relief he had felt when she had told him the result was negative.

But this time it felt different, standing with the test in his hands, he had willed for the result to be positive. The fact that the child had existed could perhaps have been a factor, to find out it existed just as it had been lost would have been a bitter pill to swallow, but it had been positive and that was all that mattered.

The child brought him hope. The sting of her hand against his cheek was still clear in his memory and yet he cannot shift the woman from his heart. He has tried to convince himself that she matters to him only as the mother of his child, that what he feels for her is tied only to his feelings for the coming baby.

His love for her is complicated. She has seeped in to his veins like a poison, scarred his heart and infiltrated his brain. She causes him pain and anguish. Loving her hurts just as much as hating her, and all together those two feelings are too tightly entwined to be completely distinguishable. Both take effort, and yet come naturally. She turns his life in to a series of confusing contradicts, but he cannot give her up.

She is an addiction. A woman like no other, though he is certain that is a good thing – the world couldn't handle another Jac Naylor. She is the woman who you can never fully know, because she doesn't know herself. She has forced herself to hide so very much away, that now he doubts even she could retrieve it from those murky recesses of her mind.

In to many ways she is like him, only they have taken different paths. She forces facades and barricades, barriers to the human being beneath the ice cold surface. He hides himself beneath an easy smile. He is everybody's friend, and yet so few really know him. They both have pasts which they chose to keep hidden, pain that runs far deeper than they'd care to admit.

The door opens, and he looks up, his reverie broken by the interruption. His fingers still, before moving instinctively to the cup, prepared if necessary to bolt it in seconds if it is her. As his eyes focus more clearly, he sees his best friend step in to the room.

"Have you seen Jac?" he assaults her with the question almost before she has managed to close the door, and by the time he has reached the word you, his friend has already answered in the negative. It is a question all too commonly found on his lips.

"I think she's hiding out in her office" his friend eventually offers the extra information, and he nods. It is not unexpected, given he had seen her enter her place of sanctuary earlier in the shift, but he had hoped that she would perhaps have surfaced once more, "she'll come around eventually" his friend settles herself down in the chair opposite him, a smile which he thinks is meant to be comforting on her face though to him it looks forced and uncertain.

"Come on Mo, this is Jac we're talking about" he doesn't bother hiding the sigh that comes with the words. His friend rests her hands in her lap, and he wonders if she knows just how much, in moments like this, she reminds him of his granny just before she'd start to offer him advice or life lessons.

"You know you're both as bad as each other" her voice is soft. It's a simple fact, not delivered harshly, but with enough conviction that it hits home.

"I don't know what to do for the best" he speaks with a shake of his head. He knows he is trying too hard. Even in those days when he tried to leave her to her own devices he took it too far, his presence of the ward so barely noticeable that he'd heard suggestions that he'd been sent home. He cannot seem to find the middle ground.

"and nor does she" again his friend comes at him with the easy logic, "this is new territory for the both of you, only you've always known that someday you wanted children, a family but you've said it yourself that Jac is the least maternal person you know, and I don't even want to delve in to the reasons why – and then she didn't think she could have children at all, there's a lot for her to try to cope with"

"But she isn't coping" his friend sighs, drawing in her lips, she closes her eyes for a second.

"No she isn't, but she's still finding her feet" her words are gentle, she's trying to guide him to the answer without having to tell him herself.

"But it isn't doing her any good" he thinks of her, and how she looked on the ward. How her features appear drawn, the deep bags beneath her eyes, "she needs someone to help her, to look after her"

"Jac isn't used to that" his friend shakes her head, "It's something she's never known, and because of that she doesn't know how to deal with it"

"So what I just leave her alone?" he sounds hurt. He cannot keep that out of his voice because leaving her alone means missing out.

"Not exactly, you need to give her space – breathing room – but that doesn't mean she doesn't need you," she reaches out and takes one of his hands, squeezing it gently, "she just needs to find her own way of accepting and dealing with that – give her time yeah?" she offers him a smile and haltingly he returns it.

"She'll have gotten there by the time the kid starts school right?" he forces the joke, and his friend laughs. Though neither is entirely sure just how much of the joke actually was in jest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to anyone reading this and I hope it's ok :)**

For the first three days she barely notices it, she goes about her work as normal and while she thinks she senses that something isn't quite as it has been, she pushes the niggle away. It's a comment, a joke really, that brings about the realisation of just what was different – the fact that her second shadow had been severed.

She thinks, to begin with, that it's funny how she hadn't noticed. His constant presence, his questions had been a source of so much annoyance and yet once removed it had barely even registered. But then the realisation grows that without it, she hadn't really been feeling much. She had slipped back in to old ways, concentrating solely on her work, her career. Somehow without him, she has managed to think little of the changes in her own life and her child. Only really in the quiet of her darkened room, had her thoughts drifted to the life within and even that had been fleeting, the tiredness quickly catching up and sending her in to the unconscious world.

She feels guilty for her minds ability to deny what is happening. It is senseless that it happens, when she feels she has accepted things. But acceptance doesn't prevent fear. Without him, she can protect herself from the fear by slipping back in to the world of denial. Only she doesn't want to land herself in that place. If she goes there, she isn't certain she'll be able to get out, and if she cannot claw her way back to the surface then she will lose everything.

Only she is already losing so very much, or at least this is the thought that haunts her. She has fought long and hard to get to place where she is, to be the woman so very near the top rather than the scrap at the bottom of the pile – abandoned, unneeded. And now with the arrival of a child, she cannot work out how she can manage the two without something suffering. If she dedicates herself to her work, to the title on which she prides herself then the child could grow to feel that they are second best, that they have been left starved of her love and attention in favour of paperwork and patients. Yet should she chose the child and lavish on them all those things that children deserve, but which she never had, she may have to give up the work that has been her life for so very long, to miss out on promotion and a better standing. And what if she chooses the child only to find that she cannot do it, that she is little more than her mother was, and in turn she loses both the child and the career and is left once more as nothing.

There is only one alternate scenario that has snuck unbidden in to her mind. The one which she has tried not to dwell on, for it seems impossible. It is something that she wants almost as much as she doesn't; the scenario in which she has him. Only it's not having him in the sense that he has occasional custody, but rather than he shares her bed and her life on a permanent basis, a husband to her as well as father to their child. The very thought of it had scared her, the idea of being somebody's wife – to lose her identity as she saw it and yet something in the idea had warmed her, that life would not be a journey spent alone. That after the child had left home; her house would not revert to an empty shell for it would still be home to them.

In realising his lacking presence, there had been a niggle of disappointment somewhere in her chest. As a physician she couldn't quite find the words to describe it, no medical journal could manage it and yet somewhere deep within the blackened four chambered organ that beat within her, there was a niggle of something.

It was perhaps that he had drawn himself away from her with seeming ease. She could think back over the days and she was sure she had seen him with Mo, laughing and joking as they always had – bar those weeks when due to the transplant fiasco they had turned the ward frosty with the tension between them. He was the man he always was, it did not seem to pain him nor did he seem to be itching to follow her. She couldn't recall him offering to do stupid jobs to keep himself busy, to occupy the time he would have spent bugging her. It shouldn't hurt her, she has no right to feel it when they are not together. All that joins them is the child, but even that he seems to be neglecting with his sudden lack of interest.

It has always, she thinks, been a possibility. He would move on and then she would be forgotten. The idea of it causes a roll in her stomach, the thought of seeing him with his arm wrapped casually around the waist of another woman but why should she deny him this? Just because she carries his child, she cannot deny him love, not when a man such as he deserves love and happiness far more than most. It is these thoughts, she knows, that confirm her own feelings towards him have never died.

They didn't end with connection of palm and cheek, nor the passing off of their night together as mistake. The weeks of not being a couple have done little to diminish feelings that she sometimes wishes would disappear. It would be easier for them to go, to be able to look at him as just her child's father.

She runs a hand over her face, suddenly confronted by the reality of feelings she has been trying to squander. She curses silently the person who had made the joke, the one that had left her sitting here at the desk on Darwin, thoughts running wild.

"You ok?" for the first time in days, she hears his voice speak words directed at her. She looks up to see him gazing at her, eyes filled with concern.

"Just tired" she tries to smile but it too much effort to muster. She can see now how his eyes are studying her more critically, but it is more than just the professionally trained eye of a nurse, it is the eye of someone who can see beneath the carefully constructed mask she paints on.

"You know I could always pick you up and drop you home, if it could make things easier for you" he shifts a little uncomfortably. A slight look of nervousness in his face as his gaze dances about the ward before settling on something slightly behind her.

"I'm still capable of driving" she sees for a second disappointment in his eyes, though quickly masked with a nod of his head that she doesn't altogether understand, "besides, it would mess up your social life having to drive me home every night, rather than heading off to the pub"

"It's no trouble" he is glancing away from her again. She gets the strange sensation that there is somebody behind her, and with a near certain, she thinks that should she turn around she'd found a registrar standing fairly close by, "Albie's has been quite quiet lately, I'd not be missing much – actually you'd be doing me a favour, I think my liver could use the rest"

"I suppose we could give it a try" the drive home, as much as she hates to admit it, has been something of a nightmare. A day of work leaves her exhausted and her concentration levels just aren't quite up to standard as she makes her way through darkened streets, trying desperately to keep her eyes open. The morning drive was far too dependent on whether her rolling stomach had allowed her a decent sleep, "but that's all it is, a lift to and from work and no unnecessary talking"

He smiles at her, and mimes locking his lips and throwing away a key. At this she cannot help but laugh, and nor it seemed could Mo who gave away her presence entirely with a peal of laughter. Shaking her head, the consultant couldn't help but call him an idiot under her breath, but there was something about this idiot that made him special. Flashing her his comical grin, he turned and went back to his work.

Cautiously, she turns her chair, "Hold it, Maureen" she had seen how the registrar had started to move from the corner of her eye, a hasty retreat given she'd well and truly blown her cover.

"I think Jonny needs help with Mrs Jackson"

"Why because it takes two people to listen to her endless stories about little erm whatever their names are?" the registrar flushes at her blown cover, and curses at her inability to have picked something much more convincing.

"Leah, Bailey and Aaron" the names are supplied with ease, a cover perhaps to show that while it was an excuse in this instance, she had been involved with the patient. It is a reminder to the consultant of how such things slip her mind and yet she can remember aspects of Mrs Jackson and the state of her internal organs that pale in significance to most.

"Are you responsible for this?" she switches the subject quite abruptly, no longer caring to beat around the bush with talk of Mrs Jackson. The registrar stills.

"I don't recall giving birth to Mrs Jackson's grandchildren" the sudden desire to kill the registrar is fairly strong, but somehow she manages to resist the overwhelming temptation. It would bring a quiet to the ward, and one nose firmly removed from the subject of her life, but she has come to almost like the registrar at times and the effects of a murder conviction would outweigh any benefits.

"Very funny, I meant are you responsible for Jonny?"

"Again I don't remember birthing the boy, but I suppose I can claim some responsibility for how he's turned out" there's a hint of pride in her tone, that is quite touching in a way but the consultant is far from enjoying the game.

"Last chance, are you responsible for the fact he's been avoiding me?"

"Avoiding you? I suggested he give you space, that he was probably crowding you – I know how Jonny can be sometimes, when he cares about someone he tends to go a little overboard" the consultant's eyes widen at the words, but gaining control of herself she realises that someone could very well just be the baby and not herself. She shifts herself in to a standing position, and starts to walk towards the clean utility, the direction in which she'd seen him head. "No need to thank me" the registrar whispers, almost out of the consultants earshot but not quite.

"What're you doing next Thursday?" she stands in the doorway of the room, watching as he grabs supplies. He pauses and turns to look at her, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing why?" there is a suspicion in his tone.

"Do you think you could give me a lift?" she tries to keep her voice level, a slight edge of disinterest. She sees an almost instant look of happiness in his eyes, at her having actually asked him.

"Sure, no problem" there's an eagerness in his words, a puppy wanting to please.

"Thank you Jonny" she turns.

"And I can wait for you if it's easier, y'know so you aren't hanging around waiting for me to pick you up" she turns back to look at him. She smiles.

"Why don't you want to come in and see our baby again?" and at that his face breaks, a smile so pure it almost hurts her to see it. Nobody would ever have been that excited to see a scan of herself, and yet her child would probably never realise quite how lucky they are to have that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hopefully this is ok and thank you to anyone reading**

"Good morning m'lady" she cannot help but smile as he stands in the doorway to her flat, doffing an imaginary cap in her direction and bowing his body slightly. As he straightens an impish grin crosses his face. She steps back a little way, allowing him entry and she sees how a look of bemusement passes across his face, "I thought I was just the chauffeur"

"I didn't realise you'd be here quite so early" she shakes her head a little as he steps inside, she is clearly not yet ready for work based on her attire and yet he doesn't seem to have noticed "and I think having a man on my doorstep could raise a few eyebrows"

"You're hardly a nun, and besides as you said it's early – who'd be up to notice?" she raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't notice, he's already settled himself down on one of her chairs and has very much made himself at home, "you had any breakfast?" she rolls her eyes, knowing he is probably angling for food, the man could be something of a bottomless pit if given half the chance.

"You think I'm bringing men home in this state?" she ignores the breakfast comment, not quite wanting to delve in to her eating habits. He turns to look at her, and she frowns flattening the pyjama top which she is certain does nothing for her figure.

"Well not since the baby obviously, but before" she frowns, the only man beyond Jonny that she slept with since the moment she'd met the Scot was Sean and that was a memory best left buried. It still pained her, how she had thrown so much away with one careless night. How she had destroyed so much good and yet somehow he had forgiven her enough to take her back before she had once again hit the self-destruct bottom – though he had helped her that time.

"Not even before," she doesn't know why she makes the admission but for some reason it comes and a look of surprise passes across his face followed by a display of terrible concealed pride at the fact. She rolls her eyes as she takes him in, the way his demeanour has shifted slightly. She comes to regret the words, for they reveal more than she had wished to show and yet to him it is probably merely confirmation of something he already knew. After all, when he had asked if he was the father all those weeks before, she had given no hint that there was another possibility, "look I need to finish changing, you can watch television or find something to snack on, just don't make a mess"

He watches as she leaves the room, before he stands to make his way to her cupboards. In all fairness it wasn't that long ago he'd eaten but given she'd offered it would be rude not to eat something. Searching the shelves though he finds himself disappointed, she appears to be surviving on the barest essentials though he isn't sure anyone – bar professor Hope perhaps – would consider donuts a staple part of a healthy diet. Nor is he quite prepared to take one, fearing that the pregnant consultant would destroy him for such an act.

Giving up on the snack idea, he makes his way somewhat dejectedly back to the sofa. His stomach had rather been looking forward to receiving a little bit extra. When Mo had been pregnant, she'd joked that during the early months when she'd been able to stomach only a little that he'd done the eating for two on her behalf – and still it had been her that had piled on the pounds and not him. He'd been an all too willing supplier of the foods she craved as her pregnancy progressed, and had indulged in more than a few midnight feasts with her.

He would do the same for Jac, if only she'd let him. So many nights he'd sat up with Mo while she had cried for no apparent reason other than the tears had started to fall, while she had laughed to the point when her laughter had become silent and she'd struggled to draw breath or he'd helped her put the world to rights while she had raged against things that seemed to matter very little. In a heartbeat he'd repeat this routine, though it had left him exhausted through lack of sleep and more than a little anxious never quite knowing what to expect.

As he settles himself down, he cannot help but dwell on the fact she hadn't moved on from him. While he knew his own bed had been empty of a woman for so many weeks, part of him had expected her to find another. It would be something he'd probably have found out by accident, her personal life rarely connecting with her professional and then he would have felt the pain of losing her once more. But he didn't want it to happen. Certainly he wanted her to be happy, but he didn't want her to be with anyone other than himself.

He hears a slight yelp and is on his feet and in her bedroom within seconds. He does not even consider the possibility that he would find her in a state of undress, or that turning away from her when he did could potentially relieve any embarrassment for her. Instead he finds himself knelt on her bedroom floor, in front of where she sits on her bed, one hand rested against the swell of her abdomen.

"Are you in pain? Do you want me to drive you to maternity, get you checked over?" the words come in a panicked rush, as he runs through every potential pregnancy complication he can think off, each one slightly worse than the last. He studies her body, her frame still so very thin though it has softened in places, still he is surprised that she is not bigger, not with the types of food she seems to be packing away.

"No, it's ok" her voice is shaky as she becomes all too aware of his presence and the fact that, save for her bra, she is all but topless in front of him. The fact that his eyes seem to be lingering on her body rather than her face makes her feel self-conscious.

"I heard you yelp" his voice has lowered slightly, the panic easing a little. He moves his eyes to meet hers, and is somewhat relieved not to see fear or pain reflected back at him. She offers him the smallest of smiles, one that somehow reaches her eyes despite the twitch of her lips being minute. She reaches out and takes his hand, he feels how hers shakes, the uncertainty of the movement and how she guides it to where her own hand had rested against their baby's home.

"The baby kicked" she says the words, but it's unnecessary, seeming to understand what is required the baby offers a kick against its father's hand, causing a wide smile to stretch across his face.

"Hello there, little one" he lowers his head, so that he is level with her stomach, "I can't believe you waited 'til I was here to do this" his voice is filled with wonder, as yet another movement is felt beneath the palm of his hand. Gently he strokes the skin.

"Jonny, remember what I told you – the foetus can't hear you" but he can hear something resembling an emotion other than annoyance in her tone. It's not something he can quite he can name but it is present none the less. He looks up at her,

"Well maybe not quite yet but it's not doing any harm is it?"

"Possibly not to you or the baby, but I actually have to listen to you" he rolls his eyes and returns to face her belly.

"Don't worry little one," he whispers, lips close to her skin, "you'll get used to mummy, she just pretends to be like this but really, she finds the things daddy does charming – she'll just never admit it" and with that he feels a pillow connecting with the side of his head.


	6. Chapter 6

**I think this part may be a little out of character but I just couldn't get it to go any other way so it hope it's ok. Thank you to anyone reading / reviewing.**

Together they step in to the lift to take them up to Darwin, and for once they are the only two inside. The pillow against his head had rather broken the moment between them, and the car ride had been one taken mostly in silence other than a few barbed comments about his driving skills. He knew why she'd done it, for in that moment he'd been too familiar and in an already self-conscious state she had wanted out. It was an ill-timed mistake on his part, and yet he was near certain he couldn't have prevented it. It had felt so natural, and had things been different, it probably would have been. Perhaps she still would have whacked him with the pillow but in jest rather than what she actually did.

"You know I'm going to have to see Hanssen right?" he breaks the silence, not wanting it to extend throughout their shift. She shifts slightly, twisting to look at him with a raised eyebrow and a look of confusion on her face.

"and why would that be?" her voice is flat, she is interested but not overly. She is certain whatever he comes up with will be inane, and will probably irk her. He places a hand against the side of his head, and pushes his body against the wall of the lift, as if using it to hold him upright.

"You hit me with a pillow – I'm fairly sure I can count it as assault and I fear you may have given me a concussion" he forces a weakness to his voice, a waver as though the world is spinning around him and he is battling to stay in the conscious realm. He adds dramatic flair to his performance, sliding slightly before righting himself, miming as if to say 'I'm fine, I'm fine'.

"You're an idiot" she shakes her head, and turns back away from him.

"Adding verbal abuse as well" the shake to his voice is enough to draw laughter to her lips. She wonders if he is practicing for a side-career in amateur dramatics with the efforts he is putting in to this. Turning once more the laughter becomes audible at the pathetic expression on his face. He feigns hurt at her laughter.

"I didn't hit you that hard" she argues her case, though weakly. He smiles as he probes the side of his head.

"I was KO'd for at least five minutes"

"Liar, it was fifteen and it's not my fault that you are evidently not strong enough to withstand a blow from a pillow" she gives in to the game, and watches his face change. He slips his body again, one hand to his forehead.

"Tell the baby, it's father was a good man" his body lowers to the floor, and she fights the urge to laugh.

"Jonathan Maconie, struck down by a pillow in the prime" a giggle escapes at that "of his life. He leaves behind a shoebox flat in to which a family of mice will move in though they fear it is too small, a car which we'll have to pay someone to take and a trail of a million broken hearted women"

"It's been a good life" he rests his head against the wall of the lift, his body crumpled, "but you're underestimating the car and the number of women" his voice is barely a whisper, forced out in weak shaking tones.

"Give the boy an Oscar" she claps her hands and rolls her eyes, "but get up now" he opens his eyes and moves quickly to his feet, a smile on his face.

"It's a miracle, I'm alive" he moves closer, to hug her in celebration of his cheating death at her hand. She moves quickly away from him, or as much as the small enclosed space will allow. She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"Get away from me, that floor is disgusting" he gives her a smile.

"It's only a little bit of dirt" she grimaces at the very idea, "besides I barely even touched it" but he does at the very least take a step back from her.

"Even so" her gaze travels downwards to look at the floor, before it moves back up to his face. He laughs lightly, at her expression.

"Admit it though, you were worried about me for a moment" his eyes sparkle and the smile on his face threatens to split his face in two if he is not careful. She rolls her eyes, but she too cannot help but smile.

"I'll admit, for a moment I was very concerned" she shakes her head mournfully, though her smile rather destroys the effect of this, "but thankfully my fears were unfounded, and you survive to be an idiot for another day"

"Aw, I didn't know you cared so much" his mock appreciation brings forth another peal of laughter.

The lift door pings open and the two of them turn to exit, they see Mo walking passed a smile on her lips at the sight of them together. She makes no comment but they both know what she is thinking. They walked together out on the ward, their bodies close indicating that they arrived together but not quite close enough to be touching. It draws the eye of the professor who was bumbling towards his office, a small smile on his lips at the sight though he makes a quick vow to mention nothing.

They step together in to the locker room, and stow away their belongings in their lockers. Occasionally they turn to look at the other, though they do not quite know why. She smiles as she pushes the last of her things away. If there is one thing that can be said for Jonny, he can make her laugh. So few people can draw that from her, or at least not genuinely. With him, it feels natural, that she can be happy and not the person for whom happiness is never a viable option or at least not in the long term. It scares her, how he can draw from her the attempt at feeling that way. She protects herself by not allowing it, and yet feeling it with him is something from which she wants no protection, or at least not quite in the same way. She wants his protection.

She shivers as she thinks of it, and curses herself once more for letting her thoughts drift. She made the mistake of freeing them, and now they strike her. The ache increases but there is so very much at stake. To push things further is to risk it all. They can work in the realms of friendship, a relationship that is never officially a relationship and which places on them no expectation. There is no pressure to act a certain way, to be someone she doesn't feel comfortable being and knowing that, that will lead her to press the button once again destroying all that is good. Only now there isn't just the two of them, there is the child growing inside of her to think of.

"What happened this morning" she turns to look at him, the smile on his face at the memory enough to sober her all the more, "let's just keep it between us, ok?" she sees the slip instantly, the fall of his smile and the light in his eyes dimming. The loss of something that she hadn't even noticed building. She wonders if he sees it in her, why she has come to this.

"Sure" he says the word softly and she nods her head before turning and walking out of the ward, unable to see his face any longer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hopefully this is ok and thank you to anyone reading**

Her stomach rolls as she sits in the waiting room. She knows she should be excited, another opportunity to see the wriggling black and grey shape within her, to see how it has become more human in appearance. And yet she cannot push away the sensation in the pit of her stomach. She turns to look at the man seated next to her, his hands clasped together to prevent their movement, something she has already scolded him for. Unlike her, he is excited. He is acting as she should, his body on edge as each second drags delaying the moment he has been waiting for.

Time, she thinks, is a strange beast. For him it passes too slowly, for her it is too quick. Each tick of the clocks hand brings closer the moment when cold gel will be placed on her bare skin, a shock to the system, jolting you in to a reality you are trying to block out. And then there is the wait, as the probe is manipulated, the wait until the sonographer tells you that everything is alright, and only then do you realise that you have forgotten to breath. It isn't until you have that blessed relief that you can even dare turn to look at the screen, terrified that the image that will confront you will be still, no flicker of a beating heart, no wriggles and rolls as the child tries to evade the probe that invades it's privacy.

She tries to convince herself that her fear is unfounded. She has felt the child move within her, a flick of an arm or a leg against her uterus' walls. It is a reminder that there is another person, that in the dark of her flat she is no longer as alone as she once was.

Days had passed since the lift. Things have been strange between them, and she blames herself. He is careful, too careful, in her presence. Conversation is halting and uncertain as he picks his words, he does not joke as he once would have done and yet she doesn't quite understand why. In the company of others, she fears the wrong idea will be quickly presumed, if they act as they had done and she isn't certain that she is ready for that. But when it is just the two of them, she longs for him to be as he was. Instead he now acts as she does, and that too draws notice.

She has heard the low whispers. The wonder of what she has to have done to him, that he deserves better than she. She hears them state the rumour that they had reunited on the quiet which is quickly followed up by the comment 'well there must be trouble in paradise' for the once excitable father to be is now cautious in his discussion of the new arrival. To those closest to him, and she too has noted it, you can see how he struggles to hide his enthusiasm, the longing to talk of the scan to come and the fact his child has reached the point of making movements which can be felt. She has seen how he has started to talk, not just to Mo, before something has clicked in his head and the words were lost.

She hadn't meant for this to happen, or at least not like this. Her worry had been for the gossip surrounding them as a pairing and not for him as a father. She had heard, in low tones, the whispered words of one nurse that he had discovered he wasn't definitely the father, that his sudden reluctance to talk and how his enthusiasm would suddenly still was related to his coming to terms with this after so many weeks. Those words had stung the hardest, and she'd had to turn away.

He had found her after that incident, and she had tried to brush it aside. To pretend that all was well because she didn't want to concern him, he had given up easily, too easily. His questions limited to two before he had accepted defeat and walked away, leaving her with a head filled with thoughts that she could no longer ignore. He could have wiped them away, pushed them back in to their box with his comfort and words to bring laughter.

With arms wrapped around her body, she closes her eyes. Another name is called, another woman walking in to a scan room. The number in the waiting room dwindles bring closer the moment when it is her name that will be shouted. She wonders if these other women were up most of the night before, their bodies huddled against the toilet as they battled a nausea that could have been related to the pregnancy but could also have been caused by the dread of the day to come. She couldn't recall the hour when she had finally fallen asleep, but she had long been awake by the time he called at her door, wisely making no comment on her appearance – which she knew, despite her best efforts, resembled death.

"You ok?" she opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his concern is evident. She tries to tell him that she is but somehow her words are accompanied by a shake of her head. "I'll take that as a no then"

"Would you accept that it's all the water I've had to drink?" In truth she probably hasn't drunk quite enough but the feeling of her bladder being fit to burst and the suspicion that her child is likely to attempt to use it as a squeeze toy was enough to put her off consuming any more, besides she is certain her reputation is enough that no sonographer would dare scold her.

"Not a chance, Naylor" he twists his body even more and takes one of her hands, the first physical contact he has had with her since the hand placed on her bare abdomen, "it's alright to be nervous."

She closes her eyes as the child rolls inside of her and her stomach churns. Despite his assurance, she isn't quite sure that she believes him. Nobody else looks like she feels.

"Everything's gonna be alright" he whispers his reassurance, voice low enough not to attract attention from the other couples and she is relieved for that. She shifts her body slightly closer to him, as if somehow she could catch his confidence in the matter.

"What if it's not?" the words come unbidden, spoken aloud the cold knife of terror that slices her spine feels all the worse. He raises his free hand to her face, his palm cupping her cheek as gently he turns it to face him. Hesitantly she opens her eyes to meet his.

"Where's this coming from Jac – have you had any pain, bleeding?" he has his head tilted slightly to one side, if she nodded her head, he would call someone over, demand they jump the queue in order for her to be seen next. She'd probably end up in the other waiting room after, to have a full antenatal check by one of the midwifery team.

"No nothing like that" and it's the truth. The only bleeding was the early spotting that she had feared signalled the end of her pregnancy, since then the pregnancy – bar the sickness – had run surprisingly smoothly. More so than many other aspects of her life to date, "it's just everything something good happens, something goes wrong and …" she can't complete the sentence. She feels liquid welling in her eyes as she thinks of the reality of that sentences end, of the words left unspoken. Through watery eyes, she sees his own soften.

"hey now, you'll set me off" he scolds her gently, and she smiles a watery smile at the very idea of it, "it's gonna be ok, Jac, you'll see. We're gonna do this together, you don't have to face this alone" she swallows hard. Her Jonny has returned to her, his sweet earnest tones fight against the voices in her head. He squeezes the hand still clasped in his.

"Jacqueline Naylor" she hears her name called, and she looks to him. Slowly he stands and draws her with him, the arm that had been held to her face snakes down to her waist, gently guiding her to the waiting woman in uniform.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to anyone who is reading this and for any reviews left. I've had this part uploaded to the site for a while but things have been a but haywire with trying to sort stuff ahead of moving up to uni. I hope this is alright and. Can post fairly regularly as at least with this fix I have a number of prewritten parts. **

She awkwardly manoeuvres herself up on the couch ready for the scan, and he watches surprised at how the slight rounding of her abdomen has changed how easily she is able to do this. He knows he could have offered her a hand, but chances are she would have batted it away without comment, wishing to save face in front of the sonographer who hovers by the light switch. No, she would have saved the comment until later, when they are alone and he would be subjected to a lecture on why pregnancy does not limit her capabilities.

He watches as the sonographer settles herself down on the stool, propelling herself over to the waiting machine that hums gently. He watches the way her fingers easily type in details, bringing up the information about Jac, and the purposes of the day's scan, though from reading the notes the sonographer would already be well aware of this. He dreads to think how many of these scans she has completed in her time working.

"So will you be wanting to find out the gender?" she pulls a paper towel from the pile and hands it to Jac; the consultant wordlessly pushing it in to the waistband of her trousers before she bares her stomach. She doesn't seem to acknowledge the question, and he wishes they had discussed it beforehand. It hadn't even occurred to him despite having read about it numerous times.

Finally taking a breath, he whispers that yes he would like to know. At almost at the same moment she answers that she doesn't. He frowns, this was the thing he had dreaded in the second before he spoke, that their answers would clash and they would have to confront this issue here. She turns and her eyes meet his, he flashes her an apologetic smile.

"You can decide later" the sonographer speaks softly, and he looks to her face. He sees there the hint of amusement, that she has probably found herself in this situation far too many times before with parents who have not thought to make such a decision in advance, that they had assumed that on some cosmic level they would automatically agree with each other. The sonographer squeezes gel on to the probe she now holds "now I apologise about how cold this is" her words come just as she places it down and the consultant gasps in shock, despite knowing what was coming.

His eyes fix on the screen and almost on instinct he reaches out and takes hold of her hand, squeezing it gently in his. He watches as the image forms, shifting and changing as the probe moves. It amazes him that this living being exists within her body, growing and changing. He can make out more this time, than with the previous scans. The reality that their baby is coming ever closer to being ready to be born.

"Is everything ok?" he can hear the clicks of the buttons as the sonographer takes readings and measurements but it is only her voice that truly reaches him. He turns his head from the screen to look at her face, at eyes that are fixed firmly on the ceiling rather than at the screen as his had been.

"Our baby is beautiful" he squeezes her hand again, as the words come breathlessly. There is a wonder in his voice and he sees the way she moves her head in order to look at him. There is a rise in her eyebrow, a further questioning of what he has said, and again he looks to the screen, a gasp escapes his lips as he realises what he has seen before he turns back to her.

"You've seen haven't you?" she shakes her head, and he nods knowing there is little point pretending. "Go on then, as I know you won't be able to keep it quiet for long"

"Our baby is just as beautiful as her mother" he says, and she rolls her eyes and under her breath calls him an idiot but his words seem to be enough to placate her. She turns her head, to look at the screen before her and he feels her grip on his hand tighten – as though she expects things to change in the instant she looks.

"She's getting so big" her voice sounds surprised, and he smiles, "I thought maybe …" she doesn't quite manage to complete the sentence, her brain suddenly realising how open she had almost been. But he doesn't need her to fill in the blank, he sees the bulge of her abdomen and thinks to those of the women outside of the door.

"I know" he speaks to let her know that it doesn't matter that she can't, that there is still a degree of understanding between them. She returns the squeeze of his hand. And then he looks to the sonographer, suddenly realising that she is far less chatty than the previous one had been. She has not pointed out limbs and body parts, in fact she had barely made any comment at all. He knows that she'd be aware that they are both medical professionals but these are things that come as second nature.

A shiver runs through him as he sees her face, the fact that she is still moving the probe over areas of their baby that she had already looked at. He sees a slightly furrowed brow, and a drawn in lower lip, concentration painted on her face. Her looks for a second to Jac, but sees she is entranced by the screen, just as he has been and for that he is grateful. She has been worried enough that he does not want her to see this. He tries to tell himself that all is fine, that they have just found themselves an especially thorough member of staff who doesn't talk until she has ticked every single box. Only the racing of his heart tells him that something is wrong and he feels sick, sick that he has told Jac that everything is going to be alright when now it appears she was right all along.

Finally the sonographer replaces the probe, and Jac moves to wipe her belly.

"Ms Naylor, if you'd like to go and relieve your bladder, I just need to go and have a quick word with someone" the sonographer's voice is perfectly level, a tone designed to keep anxious parents to be calm but it is a ploy too easily recognise by the two professionals, people who have employed such measures themselves. She pulls herself in to a sitting position and he cannot quite meet her gaze, instead continuing to look at the face of the sonographer willing her to smile, to tell them that everything is alright. He feels the vice like grip of the consultants hand around his. "I'll just be a moment" she slips out of the door, and while she has permission to move, neither of them does. Instead they sit frozen, waiting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hopefully this part is alright :-) I'm sorry I'm a bit slow in updating, I'm hoping when I settle more with uni and things I will be a bit more regular (and will get some of my others finished off). I still have a few (I think three) pre-written parts of this one so really I have no excuse. **

He has no words. He cannot offer her reassurances; he cannot tell her that whatever happens everything will be alright. He thinks he should, that somehow he should be able to find the words to tell her, that no matter what comes next, somehow everything will be just fine.

Instead he is consumed by the all too silent room; even the machine which had the potential to destroy their hopes had fallen quiet. Its low hum lost in the stillness.

He forces his eyes from the door. He was no clue how long has passed since it had been pulled closed by the sonographer; seconds, minutes, hours or days – time has lost all meaning now. She could be gone a lifetime yet he is certain she'd return to find them sat exactly as they are now, hands clasped together. Perhaps they would not even have aged at all, they are frozen in time. The only part of him still ticking over is his mind, the beast which runs at too many miles an hour. It is overwhelmed by too many different thoughts that try to battle for attention, each one considering itself more important than the last. Each one flickers in his consciousness for the shortest of times, not long enough for him to grasp it but long enough for it to register. Each one increases the sick feeling in his chest, the fear which rises like bile in his throat.

He twists to look at her face. Her pupils are fixed, staring unseeing at the door as his had been. They sparkle with unshed moisture, though he cannot be sure if it was the relief at seeing their child or the fear of what was to come. His eyes travel down over her form, the hand that now rests against the swell of her stomach, the skin still shining slightly from gel she hadn't quite managed to remove. The paper towel lies abandoned in her lap.

And then a crick tells him that the door has opened, but he cannot bring himself to look. He sees how the corner of her lips twitch downwards, how she swallows hard before she tries to reset her features in to a look of indifference, only it is impossible to hide the dewy eyes or the way her body is shaking ever so slightly. As if aware she is now on display, the hand against her abdomen is snatched away, a movement so quick he had almost missed it.

"Ms Naylor, Mr Maconie" he recognises the voice, and he turns his head in response. He see's standing in the doorway the seemingly always ill at ease consultant who has been charged with caring for Jac's gynaecological and obstetric well-being. Of all the consultants to have her assigned to, he is perhaps the one worse suited, the man who seems to wilt under her gaze, his nervousness all the more apparent. He steps in to the room, "I just need to do a quick rescan, if that's alright with you" he tries to make it sound routine.

"Why?" she finds her voice, and he watches the consultant stutters slightly trying to decide on the best way of responding. He feels the hand squeeze his that little bit tighter, betraying the normality of her tone. The consultant looks to the sonographer as if he expects her to answer, though that is not her role, when he realises that he has no choice but to speak himself he turns back to them.

"There's a few things that we need to recheck – a more trained eye you see" he tries to joke but it falls flat in the tension filled room. He turns away from the nervous man to look at the woman on the bed, she has settled herself back, not bothering to question further. She has fixed her gaze once more at the ceiling overhead and he knows that she will not look to the screen again.

The events of the actual scan blurred in his mind. He could recall how she had gasped at the cold gel coming in to contact with her skin, but in his addled brain that had seemed after he'd glanced to the screen, and seen the shapes appear and shift before him. He had watched as the probe was held still at so many different points, before it was wiggled to gain a different angle. Other than the gasp she made no other sound. He recalls at one point, looking at her face and how she was trying so hard to let nothing on.

And then the consultant is telling her that she can wipe her belly once more and how she sits up carefully, shifting her gaze along the ceiling and then to a point on the wall opposite. She doesn't turn to look at the doctors face, for fear of seeing the frozen image on the screen, a stilled shot of the moving being that should have been offered to them as a photograph, a memento of this scan and the pregnancy's progress.

Seeming to realise that she will not look at him in his current position, the consultant moves. The nurse turns his own attention and sees how the man positions himself cleverly in Jac's line of vision. He clears his throat, and places a hand in his scrub top pocket.

"I think it would be best if we had a talk in my office" somehow the pair of them nod and with her hand still firmly holding his he helps her up of the couch. He feels how it takes her a moment to regain her balance. And then somehow they are moving, somehow their feet know what is expected and they follow the doctor through the room of waiting women and their partners, those who will probably leave clutching a precious photograph wearing watery but happy smiles. They walk together, until he opens a door for them and they find themselves seated opposite a doctor, who rests his hands on his desk, notes and images spread across his desk.

He starts to speak, though quite what the words are, Jonny isn't sure. They enter his ears, and yet they seem to get lost on the journey to his brain. Those that filter through make little sense, as though he has suddenly forgotten how to speak English or the doctor has started speaking another language not known to him. He looks to Jac, and sees how she is listening, biting slightly on her lower lip as she tries to process the things he himself cannot. He sees her lips move, but he cannot make out the words she is speaking.

He turns back to the doctor but it seems that he has finished explaining.

"And you can get it done today?" somehow her words startle him back in to the present, and he sees how the doctor is looking towards his computer screen, he is stuttering slightly to himself.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait, take some time to think?" finally he gets out the words, his face turned back to them, though it seems he is talking directly to Jac.

"I just need it done" she speaks quietly, and her hand squeezes his tightly. The consultant looks to his computer screen once more.

"You know, I really shouldn't .."

"Do you have space or not?" her voice is soft but harsh, and he feels to beads of panic in his chest, feeling lost at what has been decided without his input, at the fact that something could be happening tonight and he has no clue. His voice still seems incapable of working, of making words audible.

"I can fit you in" he says finally, a defeated edge to his voice.

"And you'll have the results back when?" something clicks in his mind and he hears the male doctor talking of amniocentesis, the words suddenly appearing in his mind having detoured through his brain. He sees the consultant frown.

"Not long, up to 10 days for a full karyotype but a rapid test within three" the words sound much more confident than his previous ones, perhaps the comfort of giving factual information, things that cannot be argued against by his flame haired patient.

"Right" the nurse turns to look at her, he sees in her eyes how she's working out the days, the ones where she will be forced to await a phone call.

"I'll get someone to talk through the procedure with you" the doctor stands, and quickly excuses himself, not waiting for her insistence that as a consultant herself she already knows these things. She squeezes his hand once more as the door closes, and he curses his inability to do anything more than squeeze it back.

**I'm fairly sure in RL they would not be able to be slotted in so quickly but who knows in Holby-land (especially when the patient is Jac). So I apologise for any lack of realism. **


End file.
